Watson and Holmes: Reinforcements
by RosemaryJohnSherlock
Summary: A speculation on the adventures of John and Mary Watson's daughter, Sherly, and Sherlock and Irene's son, Hamish. References to the show with new and old characters. Rated T due to mild language, Sherlock's drug use, and Moriarty scenes.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"You shouldn't be here." A voice whispers in the young man's ear.

"Neither should you." He replies coolly.

"I promised I'd keep you away from drugs." She says. He turns to face her.

"And I promised I'd keep you off the booze." He retorts. The girl fights the urge to slap him.

Sheryl Molly Watson crouches with the boy behind a stack of shipping crates in an abandoned warehouse in London that is currently being used as a drug den. In his hands are a cigarette and a lighter, which she quietly takes from him.

"Come on, Holmes. The car is waiting." She tugged on his hand.

"Did my father send you?" He sneers.

"No; protecting imbecilic geniuses is just in my DNA."

"I'm not going." He gave the Holmes' trademark sulk and slouched against a crate.

"Yes, you are. Even if I have to carry you out."

"You aren't strong enough." He muttered. She quirked an eyebrow in response. With two trained killers for parents, Sheryl had been able to defend herself from the time she could walk. Her baggy, boyish clothes hid her muscle tone, but the Holmes boy wasn't fooled.

"We're leaving. _Hamish._" The boy stiffens.

"Who told you? My mother?"

"Sherlock, actually. I helped him tune his violin during one of his withdrawal spells." The children were familiar with the consulting detective's drug ridden history. He had been clean for years, but every so often he'd be hit by the absence and he would be jittery and irritable for hours on end.

"Hamish Daniel Holmes, you are coming with me." The boy looked into those impossible blue eyes, a gift from her father, and he relented.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The two rode towards 221 B in silence. Hamish was still sulking.

"How could you? Don't you know how much they worry when you disappear?" Sheryl started in on the boy.

"Get off my back. So does your dad know you nicked his gun?" The girl looked surprised for a second then gave a small smile.

"What gave it away this time?"

"I'm not a circus monkey. My deductions aren't for your entertainment." He turned his gaze towards the window.

"Then why did you mention it out loud?" He gave an exasperated sigh.

"Your shirt is your father's, so the fold where he tucks it against the gun is there on the left side. But you aren't left handed, meaning that you would have it on the other side. There isn't another bulge on the opposite side; instead, your gate is off. Meaning you tucked a gun into an ankle holster on your right leg." He finished, glancing to catch the mirth in her sapphire eyes.

"What?" He questioned.

"Brilliant as usual. Except…" He leaned towards her eventually snapping.

"What did I miss?"

"I took my mother's gun." She smirked.

"But that wouldn't be enough to throw off your walk, it isn't heavy enough to- you were walking oddly to throw me off!" He shouted indignantly and she let out a chuckle.

"I do like to keep your ego in check. But it happened earlier today, actually." She dropped the smirk and started determinedly at the road.

"They hit you again, didn't they?" He asked softly.

"It's nothing, Daniel."

"It is, Sherly. What did they say this time?"

"Makayla's dad is a bartender. She was talking about Harry and dad's fight the last time she was pissed. She called me a freak in a family of drunkards. So I told her that her boyfriend was screwing the entire cheer squad. Things got bad after that."

"You could've taken her." He said.

"It's not worth detention."

"Do you ever wish my dad didn't try to teach you? That you could be normal?" He asked. Sheryl sighed before smiling ruefully.

"And let you be the only genius? Please."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The two teenagers both had the gifts of deduction. Sherlock had been teaching Sheryl, often called Sherly, since she could talk. When Irene came to Baker Street carrying a two year old with the same grey eyes and ebony curls, everyone was introduced to the new addition to the Holmes family. It had happened after Irene was in hiding and Sherlock had faked his death. They had both wound up in India and, somehow, Sherlock became a father. Irene had apparently taken John's advice on baby names, but he had been called by his middle name since he could inform people they were wrong. (Being a Holmes, this was _quite_ soon)

Hamish was a perfect recreation of his father at seventeen. His tall, lithe frame toward over Sheryl. His raven curls almost brushed his well-defined cheek bones and his grey eyes glinted with intelligence. He had almost every girl in school swooning before him; all except Sheryl. At least, that's what she told herself as she snuck a glance at his brooding reflection.

Sheryl had been graced with her father's eyes and short frame, while inheriting her mother's feathery blond hair. It stopped at her chin and the jagged edges showed where it had been hacked at haphazardly. She was pretty enough to have had any boy she chose, except that she was regarded as the school freak. Like the detective, she had displayed her deductive skills too often to be well accepted. Hamish often felt guilty for hiding his gifts while his friend was ostracized.

The two were in the same grade, with Hamish being a few months older. They were currently in their third year of secondary school. Since the two were introduced, they, like their fathers, had become joined at the hip. While Hamish had his father's arrogance, he also had his father's protective instinct. They had often come home with matching bruises; Sheryl by being victimized and Hamish coming to her rescue. While being raised by trained killers had gifted her with prowess in combat, especially with a gun, Sheryl detested fighting and refused to retaliate. This opportunity to indulge his white knight complex, and the fact that the girl was one of the few people who wasn't painfully boring, cemented their friendship.

Sheryl, being as fiercely loyal as her father, had made it her mission to keep the Holmes boy out of the same entertainment methods his father enjoyed. She often confiscated money she knew he would use to seek cigarettes, kept him from robbing graves (for experiments, he claimed), and most of all, kept him from cases.

As she drove him home, she couldn't resist the exasperated sigh.

"Please tell me it isn't a case."

"I can't lie to you; you would be able to tell." He turned towards her, but she stubbornly kept her eyes on the road.

"I wouldn't rat you out, you know. You can trust me." She pulled into a spot a few blocks away from the apartment and turned off the car. Then her piercing blue gaze locked on his.

"I caught onto something Uncle Greg was working on. I couldn't help it." He grinned.

Sheryl pulled out the lighter and waved it in his face.

"You needed this to do it?"

"It was a problem that called for something stronger than a patch." She punched him on the arm lightly. He tried not to wince; he didn't want her to know it had hurt.

"Promise me something." She said seriously.

"As long as I don't have to make a vow." Sheryl laughed at the mention of his dad's mission to protect her family. He graced her with a rare, genuine smile. Then he frowned.

"I can't help myself. I need cases, Sherly."

"I know. Just promise that next time, you'll take me with you." The boy looked at her with surprise and she shrugged.

"I get bored too, Holmes." He bowed his head.

"Hamish-" She started. His head snapped up to meet her gaze and she stopped as those grey eyes seemed to flash silver in the light of the streetlamps.

"I promise, Watson."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sheryl got out of the car and Hamish followed suit. Soon the two headed down the street in companionable silence.

"So…" Hamish broke in, "When do I get to drive?"

"When I lose all common sense and get sedated to boot. Remember that time a cabbie passed out and you decided to take the wheel?"

"I got him to the hospital, didn't I?"

"And my dad said you probably put a few more people there." She smiled as he huffed indignantly.

As they neared the apartment, they saw the lights on and heard a small explosion followed by a startled cry.

"Your dad experimenting again?"

Hamish bit back a scathing retort that he would've used on anyone else. He hated obvious questions. But to Sheryl, he said.

"I suppose. Mum won't be too happy; last time he put eyeballs in the microwave they got into a row."

"Was that when you stayed over on the couch?" She asked.

"No, that was for the row about the severed head." Sheryl winced in sympathy. She had seen her father's fights with Sherlock about his experiments over the years, especially after she had hurt herself when he let her play with a Bunsen burner at age three. She was glad that her parents often went to the shooting range when they were angry rather than fight at home.

They heard raised voices as they approached the door.

"Want the couch again?" She offered.

"Oh God, yes." He replied.

The two took off running down the block to Sheryl's flat, leaving the detective and dominatrix behind them to argue.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Mum, I'm home." Sheryl called into her parent's flat. No one answered.

"There's a note." Hamish pointed to the dining room table. She walked over to examine the bit of stationary.

In her mother's elegant cursive, she read:

_Dear Sherly,_

_Your father and I stepped out to have a bit of fun. Try to do the same for once._

_Love, _

_Mummy_

And in her father's doctor scrawl, she saw:

_Disregard your mother. Not too much fun. If someone tries something, you know where the tools are. Love,_

_Dad_

Again a final thought from her mother.

_Do tell Hamish hello._

"My parents say hello." She passed him the note.

"Why do I get an ominous feeling from the reference to 'tools'?" He asked, smirking. Sherly gave him a light smack on the arm.

"Oy, get your mind out of the gutter. He means the tools we use to shoot people. Especially snarky junior consulting detectives." She headed to the closet to grab the spare blankets.

"Won't your parents worry when you don't come home?" She questioned.

"Won't yours worry when they find a boy on the couch?" He replied. She snorted.

"You don't really count as dangerous." She said and he felt an odd pang in his chest which he couldn't explain. She waited, staring at him pointedly.

"Fine," He pulled out his phone and texted his father's mobile. "I'm officially not dead." This drew a smile out of both of them, until they were giggling hysterically.

She handed him the blankets, which he placed on the couch. Then he seated himself at the small dining room table, Sheryl taking the seat opposite.

"I don't suppose you're tired." He asked her.

"Are you kidding? Chasing after you has got me all wound up. A drug den, good lord, what kind of case are you on?" She sighed. "Never mind. I don't suppose your sleeping habits have changed?" She shook her head at his look of amusement. Like his father, Hamish barely slept.

"Nope."

"Telly, then?"

"Nothing too idiotic. Care for tea?" He asked, heading towards the cramped kitchen.

"No!" She jumped up, following him. "Last time I left you alone in here, I had to explain how you started a fire in the sink, _with the water running_, to my folks."

"It wasn't particularly hard-" He started.

"Go sit down; I'll make the tea." She stated firmly. He gave a shrug and left, his shoulder brushing against hers in the small space. She was glad he couldn't check her pulse. That was the tool his father had used to discover Irene's love for him, a trick Irene had later used to her own advantage.

It was only when she brought the cup to Hamish that she understood.

_He had played her into making him tea._ Again.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The two watched a show that tried to pass itself off as a mystery drama. They tried to see who could solve it first.

"The victim did it." Hamish stated five minutes into the program.

"The victim can't have done it, genius." She used the term sarcastically.

"Who did it then?" He countered.

"It's obvious," the girl took a thoughtful sip of her tea, watching the boy squirm out of the corner of her eye.

"Well?" he snapped.

"He has a long lost identical twin." She replied.

"Statistically unlikely." He muttered.

"But cliché enough for television, wouldn't you say?" She smiled brightly, melting the snubbed genius's snark.

They continued to watch, eventually proving Sherly correct, much to her delight.

"What's the score now?" She asked.

"Two hundred and eighty-four for me, and two hundred and fifty-seven for you." He replied after checking his mind palace.

"Your tea score is currently three to my three hundred, by the way." He added, earning him a glare,.

As children, they had often watch their fathers work out cases together at Baker Street. Sherlock's pouting had often resulting in John bringing him tea. They barely ever saw the detective reciprocate the action, spurring the on-going tea challenge: to see who could manipulate the other into making tea more often.

"Glad I could get you to an even number," She quipped. Her false anger soon dissolved, and with her loss of the energy from the caffeine and chasing a Holmes around town, she gave a tired yawn.

Hamish hopped off the couch and grabbed her hand, pulling her up.

"Off to bed, then. Come on." He gave a mock tug, but Sheryl refused, giving a half-hearted whine and snuggling deeper into the cushions.

"You're going, even if I have to carry you." He threw her words back at her. He heard a mumbled, "I'd like to see you try," escape from the face currently buried into the couch pillow.

"Alright then." He leaned down and grabbed her gently in a bridal carry, ignoring her weak, sleepy protests.

As he crossed the threshold to her room, he felt her mumble something against his chest.

"Hmm?" He said good-naturedly.

"I know where the guns are." She turned her head so he could hear her better, but didn't open her eyes.

"I would never dishonor a warrior of Watson." He replied, evoking a sleepy smile.

He placed her gently on the bed before throwing the covers over her as best he could. He turned and started to leave before he heard his name. He turned back to the girl on the bed.

"Yes?"

"Try to sleep, won't you?"

"I'll try. Goodnight, Watson." He said.

"Goodnight, Holmes." She replied, just as she drifted off.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

A burning smell hit Sheryl's nostrils, rousing her from her dreams of murderous pieces of toast. Probably a result of the smell, she thought.

She dashed into the kitchen, only to find her father at the stove, attempting to grill bacon.

"Oh, morning Dad." She yawned.

"Morning, Love. Rough night on the town?" He asked, gesturing to Hamish's sleeping form on the couch.

"Just keeping him out of a spot of trouble."

"So the usual?" he joked and she smiled.

"You and Mum have a good time?" She turned, hearing her mother squeeze into the kitchen.

"It was lovely. Morning, Beautiful." John said, kissing her mother lightly on the lips.

"Good morning, Doctor Watson." Her mother smiled and hugged him around the waist. Hamish coughed from the doorway.

"Hope I'm not intruding." He said.

"Oh, Hamish, how wonderful to see you!" Mary Watson cried, wrapping the tall boy in awkward hug.

"Morning, Daniel." Her father said.

"Oh John, the cat is out of the bag. Just call him Hamish and be flattered." Mary chastised playfully.

"I don't mind, Mrs. Watson." He said, wishing to escape her tight embrace. She stepped back to look him in the eye.

"It's Aunt Mary and Uncle John to you, young man. You know that."

"As I've said before, we share no blood relation; it's ridiculous to-" He drawled.

"Oh, nonsense." Mary replied. "Now come sit, I daresay it's time for to eat."

"I'm not-" Hamish started to say, before his stomach gave a loud rumble.

"Hungry?" Sheryl finished for him, raising an eyebrow. A blush appeared on the boy's pale cheeks.

"It's no shame to be hungry lad, especially with my cooking." John boasted, earning a shared look between Mary and her daughter, with both trying not to laugh.

"I might not be bloody Sherlock Holmes, but I can tell when you two are laughing at me." John remarked. The two giggled and hurried to the dining room table, dragging Hamish with them.

Then the family sat down to a breakfast of bacon and burnt toast with jam. Hamish ate sparingly, but Sheryl noticed his envious glances at her loaded plate. She passed him a bit of toast when no one was looking. He gave a noncommittal grunt, then proceeded to nibble at it.

"So any good cases, Dad?" Sheryl couldn't help asking. Hamish glared at her.

"Actually managed to get in an eight, actually." He replied.

"Oh, wonderful. You know how long it has been since he had an eight." Mary commented.

"Apparently," John went on. "Some drug dealers are trying to smuggle supplies in through children's toys." Hamish groaned.

"The flat's been full of them for days. Half of them won't shut up. Mrs. Hudson is at the end of her rope with the racket." Hamish ranted and Sheryl tried to contain her giggles.

"It isn't funny; I've almost been driven to teddy bear murder." He added, making all three Watson's burst out laughing. Hamish sulked in his seat before Sheryl patted his shoulder reassuringly.

"I'll help you hide the body." She mock whispered. He grinned.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"Let's go." Hamish demanded, standing at the door, scarf wrapped around his neck and foot tapping impatiently.

"Keep your trousers on." Sheryl replied, causing them both to start laughing hysterically.

"It was even funnier while there." John commented, hugging Sheryl goodbye.

"Think I'll get invited there someday, Dad?" She joked, earning a fake grimace.

"I hope not; would mean you'd be on a case. No cases till you're older." He told her.

"Yeah, Dad, I know." She hugged him tightly.

"Where you kids off to?" He asked, grabbing his briefcase as he stepped out on his way to work.

"Didn't you hear? We're helping Uncle Lock dismember toys for science." She grinned, Hamish glowered, and John laughed.

"Have fun then. Just hope Mydlock doesn't get mixed in." he winked at her.

"Dad!" She yelled, attempting to catch him just as he hurried out the door.

"Just for that, I'm hiding all your favorite jumpers!" She called to an empty hallway.

"I might not be an expert on 'normal'," Hamish said, ignoring her snort of derision, "But I believe shouting at nothing doesn't fit in the category."

"Who's Mydlock?" He asked as they walked down the London street to the familiar flat.

"No one." She mumbled, trying to hide her blush.

"Don't make me deduce it. Or worse, ask Sherlock."

"Alright." She conceded, grudgingly. "He was my teddy when I was small. A present from your dad, actually." She glanced at Hamish to see if he was going to mock her, and he nodded at her to continue.

"I'd had him since I was born, and when I could talk I was expected to name him. It was just after you'd arrived, you see, so I…I named him after all three of you. My from Mycroft, Lock from Sherlock, and D-"

"For Daniel." He finished.

"Yeah." She added lamely.

They reached 221 B, and Hamish fumbled in his pocket for his key. Just before he opened the door, he smiled at Sheryl.

"Just don't ask my mum about Molly the teddy." He said, before dashing as fast as he could up the stairs.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Despite the odd start, the afternoon went by pleasantly. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were on good terms, and every small touch earned them retching sounds from Hamish. This gave Sherlock the idea of placing a passionate kiss on Irene's lips to further annoy his son.

"I don't think I can stand it." Hamish griped as he ripped open a teddy bear and swabbed the stuffing, before placing the swab in the pile to be tested for residue later.

"I think it's sweet." Sheryl said, gazing fondly at the Holmes couple. She admired Irene for her win of the detective. It couldn't be easy dealing with someone uncomfortable with affection.

"You can say that, you don't live with them." He replied.

"Oh please. Try bringing anyone home when your parents are trained killers. Mum was chopping veggies with her knife collection, and dad was wearing a shirt to show his shoulder wound."

Sherlock overheard and Irene laughed at the expression on his face. It was a badly repressed smile.

"Try these two. Last time I brought a girl over, Dad was talking to his skull and Mum was practicing cracking her whip." He gave them an icy glare, but they both giggled a bit. Sheryl was holding onto the table and laughing so hard she was shedding tears.

Hamish noticed her crying and immediately wrapped her arms around her, stroking her hair. Sheryl went still, and Irene could be heat giggling even more loudly.

"Daniel dear, you've pulled a Sherlock again. The poor girl was crying because she was _happy_, not because she was upset." Sherlock chuckled and Hamish stepped away from her awkwardly, glancing at the floor to hide his blush.

"You did the same at Dad's wedding, didn't you Uncle Lock?" Sheryl asked, her skin still tingling from Hamish's embrace.

"Yes. I tried to give a best man speech-"

"And ended up solving a murder." Irene and her son finished.

"Yes, that." Sherlock muttered, pouting a bit.

"Oh, I always like that story, Uncle Lock." She said, giving the insulted detective a hug. He was stiff for a second or two before wrapping a long arm awkwardly around her shoulder. She gave him a squeeze and let go, meeting his smile with one of her own.

"Well, back to work." Hamish added, steering Sheryl by her shoulders towards the toy examination table.

"Oh, now I want a story." Irene added, gazing hopefully at her husband.

"Please, anything with Hamish." Sheryl begged, and if possible, Hamish paled even more.

"When you first laid eyes on him?" Irene asked the detective. "Or when she first laid eyes on him?"

"Whichever one is best at not embarrassing me." Hamish grouched, flopping into his father's chair


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Whichever one is best at not embarrassing me." Hamish grouched, flopping into his father's chair.

"When you first arrived, I was having tea with John and Mary, who had brought you along, Sherly." He said, using her pet name.

"The doorbell didn't ring; I'd shot it a week before, so there was quite a loud knock. John pretended to fuss with you, forcing me to answer it. There I opened the door the The Woman, the most beautiful woman," Irene giggled girlishly. Sherlock touched her arm fondly before continuing.

"In her arms she carried a small replica of myself. I looked at him and I said, 'So I'm the father.' And he opened his little eyes, looked up at me and said, 'That's what I'm told.'"

Sherlock let loose a rare, hearty laugh and Sheryl could see why Irene loved the detective. Despite all their faults, the Holmes men were truly wonderful in their affections.

"So Irene came in and sat down with us at tea, with Mary cooing over him and John slapping me on the back in congratulations and you walked over and tugged on my coat. I picked you up in my arms and you asked why everyone was excited. Instead of saying anything, I gestured for Irene to carry Hamish over. We set you both on the ground and you just stared at each other for the longest time. And then…" He hesitated, ever the dramatic.

"And then…" Hamish mocked. Sheryl titled her head, wondering at what had come next. Her parents had never told her this story, and she couldn't remember meeting Hamish; he was always just _there._

"Hamish spoke and he said, 'I deduce that you're boring.' He was smug about it too. And then little Sherly said, 'I deduce that you're from India and that you're a _bastard._'

Irene burst out laughing and Sherlock chuckled, while Sheryl turned bright red and looked down at the floor.

"You're mum was so angry at your father for teaching you that word. Then I asked, 'How do you know, Sheryl?' and you explained that his diaper wasn't a brand found in England based on the fibers and the design, his mother had no ring on her finger, and how he should go ahead and start wearing pants that aren't for babies." Sherlock smiled, but Sheryl continued to stare at the floor.

"And Hamish replied…" Irene goaded the detective. Sheryl dreaded hearing more, but glanced up shyly.

"So Hamish simply holds out his teddy bear and replies 'Molly and I don't like you.' You two had a matching set you see; Irene sent me yours Sheryl I gave it to you when you were born. She gave Hamish the other one. You saw that teddy and you ran to the sofa and grabbed yours and said, 'Well Mydlock likes you.'

"And then all the adults asked you why the bear had such an odd name and you said his full name was Mycroft Daniel Sherlock, but he liked to shorten it. To the two of you, if the bears matched, so did you, and you've been inseparable ever since." Sherlock finished, as Irene planted a kiss on his cheek.

Hamish groaned, risking a glance at Sheryl, and was taken aback by the tears on her cheeks. Although by the smile on her face, he could tell she liked the story as much as he did.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"Be careful." Sherlock told her as she hugged him goodbye.

"I'll watch out for dragons." Sheryl promised.

"Tell your mum hello for me." Irene added.

"Will do." Sheryl replied.

She turned to see Hamish standing awkwardly next to his mother, staring just past her to avoid making eye contact. Her heart ached at his discomfort and without a second thought she threw her arms around him too. Unlike the detective, he responded immediately, hugging her as close as he dared. He leaned down and whispered into her ear.

"Goodbye, Watson."

"Goodbye, Holmes." She replied.

She didn't let on that she could feel how fast his heart was beating. He didn't let on that he could feel her leaning into him to hear it.

Sheryl left 221 B to walk to her parents' flat.

She didn't know it would be a long time before she saw it again.

Sherlock got a call from Lestrade about the case. Sherlock called John and they headed out. Mary stayed home to wait for Sheryl. Mary called her daughter's mobile, which Irene answered, saying that the girl was probably on her way back for it and that was the reason she was late, no call for worry. Irene sent Hamish to return the phone. He grumbled, but was glad for the excuse to be alone with Sheryl. Maybe he'd try to tell her, he thought, but decided against it. A Watson and a Holmes were too predictable to really last.

He searched the street for her familiar frame, but found none. He walked all the way to her parents' flat without seeing her. As he ran back to Baker Street, his mind flashed through worst case scenarios: dead, drugged, stabbed, dead, shot, dead, dead, dead…

His mind wouldn't stop and the graphic images brought tears to his eyes. The blood staining her hair, her brilliant blue eyes dull and lifeless, her skin a sickly ivory. He shuddered and ran faster. When he reached 221 B, he collapsed in the doorframe and choked out a sob.

On the door was a note; its familiar scrawl too sickening to imagine.

_Got Sherly._

_Get Sherlock._

_Love,_

_Jim_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Sheryl woke up groggily. She blinked blearily at her surroundings, her mind taking not of the blank walls, rounded furniture, and lack of escape routes.

_Escape_…The word triggered something in her brain. A dark car pulling up next to her. A grab for a mobile that wasn't there. A fight, a broken nose for her assailant and a blow to her skull for her. It wasn't enough, she remembered a needle being pressed to her arm when she tried to escape the car.

She tries to fight the haze on her mind; she tries to move her arms and finds them tied behind her chair. Her ankles too, are bound. She has a gag in her mouth, to prevent noise.

_Think_, her father's voice tells her. _Find a weapon_, she looks around the room, knowing it's in vain. The furniture is all soft and rounded. There are no objects small enough to be held, nothing sharp enough to be pushed into. A true captive's room.

"Hello." A voice calls out. A door opens to reveal the man of the scary stories she heard as a child.

"I don't know if they told you about me. I'm Jim. Jim Moriarty. No? Did I not make much of an impression? Oh well. Your parents will understand." He walked into the room, pulling up a chair so he was opposite her.

"I'll tell you a story then. Once upon a time, there was a knight named Sir Boastalot. One day he died, thinking he'd killed his enemy. But Sir Boastalot didn't really die, so why should his enemy stay dead. He and his pet Knight John Watson got a warning from the great Sir James, but did they listen?" He stopped to grin wickedly at her.

"No. They went on to be happy. They became fathers, while Sir James was left with no one to play with. But now, Dearie the story becomes reality for you." He checks his jacket for imaginary lint and, finding none, turns towards her once more.

"You aren't really my type, but you'll do. You get to help me. You see, I need to burn Sherlock. I promised to, and I am a man of my word. So how to do it? Killing his little pet, your father, wouldn't burn enough. But crushing his pet, oh that would burn Sherlock. His little protégé, the one he vowed to protect forever, gone and it's all his fault. Watching his best friend whither with grief, oh isn't it delicious?" He squeals and hops up from his chair, eager to start.

"Well, Arthur and I, he's my new goon, will start on you in the morning. Nighty-night." He spins on his heel and leaves. Sheryl's head droops from drugged exhaustion.

"Oh, me. I'm so changeable." He struts into the room. Sheryl doesn't bother to look up.

"Well, let's begin." Jim pulls out a gun; Sheryl hears him cock it.

He fires.

At Baker Street, Hamish leaves a note for his parents and John.

_This dragon is mine._


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The noise hits her first, before the pain. Her eardrums seem to explode with the sound, the waves vibrating off of her skin. Then her shoulder explodes. She hears screaming, only later realizing it's her own.

"Yes, yes it hurts. That's what happens. But think, now you and Daddy have matching scars… Although, I think his was on the other side, maybe I should…"

He cocks the gun again and she whimpers.

"You don't want to? Oh, but we must get it right. Well, maybe we can leave it be…if you say please." He poses the challenge. It is a display of his dominance, her pleading to him.

Part of her recoils at the thought, refusing. Part of her wants to beg, cry, plead, grovel, _anything_ to end the pain, to prevent more.

"No, nothing?" He's disappointed, and anger flashes briefly in his eyes.

_I know he's a prat, but don't let him shoot you again! _ Her father's voice yells in her ear. _You need as many arms as you can get to escape. Go on. Do it now. Just remember to make him pay for it later._

So Sheryl screams, pleading with her eyes and writhes in the chair, even though it sets her wound aflame with fresh pain.

"That's better." He singsongs. He turns and nearly skips out of the room.

Sheryl is left alone. When the pain becomes too much, she blissfully passes out. In her dreams, she sees Hamish, carrying her to her room. He places a chaste kiss to her forehead. She whimpers when he walks away.

"I'm coming, Watson." He whispers.

Hamish eventually finds the blood on the ground. It's only when he notices the stuffing that he sees the clumps of dried blood in it. _Oh my clever Watson, _he thinks_._ She dropped the stuffing out of her pockets, begging someone to find it.

He deduces that they dragged her backwards and that the car was facing towards 221 B, heading east. In the trash, he finds a wadded up handkerchief and a broken medical vial. The handkerchief is soaked with blood, not quite dry. It's filled with miniscule hairs, either directly from the nose or facial hair. She broke an attacker's nose before they managed to drug her.

He leaves another note for his father and heads off in the direction of Bart's Hospital. He needs Molly to help him run a few tests.

"I'm coming." He repeats to himself, hoping illogically that she'll feel all his meaning behind those words; all of his hopes and dreams and wishes for her, for _them._

He catches a cab for Bart's.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

When she wakes up, her shoulder is bandaged but still painful. Moriarty and a new man come in, this one a mountain of muscle and grotesque flesh.

"This is Arthur. He'll be in charge of making sure your stay here is unpleasant. Start with the shoulder." He directs the beast. She is quickly dumped from the bed to the floor and held down. Jim presses his foot into her wound until she blacks out.

This vision is of Hamish at a much younger age. He's so young that she's taller. In his hands he holds a stuffed bear in a pink jumper. He offers her to her.

"Molly will make you feel better."

"Molly Hooper?" She asks as she reaches for the bear. The boy gives a small smile.

"No, Molly Sheryl." He hugs her then, and the dream dissolves.

She has no sense of time. Whenever she wakes up from the pain Jim and Arthur return with drugs. She gladly takes them, almost hoping they'll kill her now. Mostly she hopes to imagine Hamish again.

The blood's DNA isn't in any databases. The drug is homemade; no way to trace the buyer. Hamish smashes vial against a wall, barely caring when a shard slices his cheek.

The pain awakens a memory. He had jumped into fight on the playground to defend Sheryl. It was sometime in primary school. She had on the pink jumper that almost matched his bear, and even then, it gave him a funny feeling in his stomach.

She runs a wet cloth over his face, cleaning the cut. She sings nonsense softly, wiping under his eyes to hide his tears. She has a bruise on her cheek and red marks from being slapped, but she took care of him first. She giggled.

"It's because I'm tough. I'm scared a lot though. So I'll be the tough one and you be the brave one, okay?" She whispered, and he nodded.

"I'm the brave one." He muttered. Then he thought that he could trace the ingredients. Maybe one was rare. Maybe they only grew in one place.

_Idiot_, he thought. He had what he needed. He got to work on isolating the components, his minor scrape forgotten.

Molly found him there, asleep at the microscope, hours later. She grabbed a blanket and tucked it around his shoulders before placing a bandage on the scratch.

Hamish dreamed of Sheryl. She and her father stood together holding hands. Then John disappeared, leaving only Sherly, clutching her shoulder and backing away from him, crying.

When Sherlock shook his son awake, he was not surprised by the anguish in his son's eyes. The murderous gaze that followed reaffirmed his own feelings towards Moriarty.

Together the grey eyes plotted.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Hours, days, weeks, Sheryl had no sense of time. She only knew that every time she woke up, Moriarty and Arthur returned to stomp her wound. She tried to grow used to the pain, but it was always blinding. She always screamed; she had ceased to cry.

The only thing she had to look forward to was unconsciousness, because it brought her dreams of her family. Her father and mother told her to be strong; Sherlock told her to remember everything; Irene offered soothing words and promises to end Moriarty. She looked forward to Hamish the most.

She and Hamish sat across from each other in her parents flat. Hamish was reaching for her hand, but she pulled away. Whenever they touched, she usually woke up. She wanted to stay and talk to him.

"Where are you, Holmes?" She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice.

"I'm coming, Watson." He said stiffly.

"Make me a promise." She said. He only nodded.

"Don't stop caring. Please." This last word nearly came out a sop, and the Holmes boy flinched and swiped at his eyes.

"I'm sorry. My dad he-he told me it would help. It wouldn't save you if a cared. I have to focus on saving you." He got up from the table and Sheryl stayed silent, not wanting to beg, clutching for her pride even in the illusion.

The Holmes boy walked around the table, kneeled in front of her till they were the same height, and gently brushed his lips across hers.

"I'm coming, Sherly." He whispered, just as her shoulder blazed and she woke up to find Arthur's foot pressing forcefully.

"Oh, did I wake you?" Jim asked. He strode over, motioning to Arthur to set her on a chair. Then he opened the door, and the thug took his cue to go.

"I don't know if you can tell, but this is getting to be a bit _boring_." He whined, and she felt fear seize her heart. She didn't want to imagine what else was coming, but images cycled through her mind nonetheless.

"So, I thought we would make it a much better game. You see, you're young. You might be able to adjust to the wound better than your father has. And, you are often bullied in school. Don't look so surprised, Dearie, I know everything. Even more than your friend Mycroft.

"To make this more fun, I think we'll start with this," He pulled free a small pocket knife, causing Sheryl to stiffen.

"I don't usually dirty my hands, but I'm quite fond of carving, you know." He smiled cruelly.

"Mycroft, what do you mean you have no damn idea where she is?" John shouted angrily at the older Holmes as he paced 221 B.

Over the few days Sheryl had been missing, they were only days, the group had convened at the flat for battle plans. Mary's former contacts had found nothing; Molly never saw any patients or bodies enter the hospital sporting a broken nose; the detective was being restrained from making it a five patch problem.

Hamish had pretended he was going to school every morning, leaving while his mother slept fitfully and his father sat with his hands on his chin, frantically thinking. Hamish always left a cuppa and a bag of crisps next to him before he left to investigate.

"The car took a route with the fewest of my cameras. I only know that they've already disposed of the car, and my men have found no trace evidence inside." Mycroft said calmly, a façade Sherlock could see through by his brother's white-knuckled grip on the umbrella.

"Well, look again!" John bellowed, before Mary put a soothing hand on his shoulder and he relaxed.

Hamish stood at the warehouse with one of his father's former dealers. He needed a break.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

"What do you know about this chemical?" The boy asked, passing the lanky man a handkerchief. The man gave a deep sniff, and the action nearly caused Hamish to recoil. He held firm and waited.

"I know the guy. At least, heard of him." The man said. Hamish waited for him to continue.

"Who?" The Holmes boy demanded.

"A man by the name of Marty. He runs a gang of dealers selling super drugs, designed to be more efficient and last longer. I'm struggling to maintain my business, here, but I can say mine are all natural." He chuckled at his own joke.

"You mean Moriarty?" The boy questioned, trying not to let his disdain for the ignorant man show.

"Yeah, that bloke. Creepy that one."

"Where are his dealers?" The boy asked.

"You trying to move your family's business elsewhere kid?" The dealer asked harshly. The boy sighed dramatically.

"I'll be sure to give your five star rating to all my mates. Now tell me where." He demanded again.

"He's near the docks. Goes through a guy named Arthur. All muscle, no brains. But word is, no one has seen Arthur for a bit. I'm hoping to move in on the territory."

Hamish's mind raced. Moriarty would need someone with few morals and enough muscles to handle a Watson of Sheryl's caliber. This Arthur might just be the break in his case he needed. He passed a hundred quid to the dealer.

"Thanks for the information." Hamish said, turning on his heel and hurrying to escape the oppressively familiar room.

Just as Hamish reached Baker Street, the mobile in his pocket pinged. He pulled out Sheryl's phone, the case patterned after her father's beige jumper. He had gotten it as her present for Christmas last year, and in her joy she'd hugged him for the first time since they had graduated primary school.

He opened the photo attachment.

He nearly retched at the sight. His blood began to boil in his veins as the sickness passed, only to be replaced with pure fury. The grey eyes took in the sight coldly, while inside, he wanted to cry.

_I own u_ was carved into the upper part of Sheryl's left arm. He could see the blood welling up from the words, cut deep into the skin. He recalled the story his father had told him of the carved apple.

Fighting his emotions, he tried to deduce something from the picture, anything at all. The walls were white, the furniture rounded at the edges. Bandages crisscrossed her right shoulder opposite the bloody message.

_There!_ His mind cried in triumph, having spotted something just behind Sheryl. A bloody handkerchief, being held to a man's nose.

Whipping his own mobile from his pocket, he texted his father that he was following a lead. Then, he fired off rapid texts to the Holmes Homeless Network.

_Find me Arthur the drug lord. Docks of London. Broken nose, muscles, light brown hair. WHERE IS HE NOW?_

Momentarily satisfied, he allowed his emotions access to his brain once more, and tried to imagine his Watson near him safe and happy when this all ended.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

It would be a lie to say it hadn't hurt. It just didn't hurt as much as the realization that no one was coming for her.

"Caring is a disadvantage." Mycroft had told her.

He was right. It was because she cared that she hoped, and it was because she hoped that the pain returned whenever she awoke. Her hope was crushed anew after every dream where her family assured her they were coming, only for her to wake up alone.

Jim seemed to sense her moral dimming as well.

"Oh, don't fret dear." He patted her cheek and she recoiled. "They _are _worried about you. They just aren't very clever in their old age, apparently. I am still clever though, so I know that they may find you eventually.

"I know. We'll send a message and a deadline. That will speed them up." Jim clapped his hands eagerly, grinning.

"Arthur, let's try the shoulder again." Arthur nodded and moved to untie her. As soon as she was free, she jabbed her palm into his still sore nose.

"Oh that won't work, dear. You can't kill him that way, you'll only make him angry." Jim tutted. Indeed, Arthur did seem angrier as he slammed her against the floor, digging his boot into her shoulder. She gave a hoarse cry, but refused to scream.

"Louder." Jim called. "Arthur, I advise you to take a few creative liberties."

Arthur grinned cruelly at her as he shifted his stance. Soon, his foot pressed into her upper arm. All too soon, her screams were drowned out by a sickening _snap_ as the bone gave way.

Arthur removed his foot and returned to his master.

"Anything you want to tell the folks at home? No locations or hints now." He waved the mobile in front of her face, the recording feature still running.

"I'm sorry for the lost time." She whispered.

When Hamish heard his mobile ring, he almost didn't answer it. Still, with the small hope of gathering a clue, he answered the call from his father.

"Hamish. Get to Baker Street now." His father said.

"Dad-" He started.

"It's Sherly. She left you a message." Hamish stared at his mobile before placing it near his ear once more.

"Get to the flat, son." His father hung up, and Hamish took off running down the street, his scarf waving behind him.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

The usual group sat around the phone, including Lestrade and Mycroft. They all listened to Jim's high pitched laugh, soon drowned out by Sheryl's screams. They went on for eternity and the group winced as one when the breaking of bone gave way to silence. Then Sheryl's voice emerged. Hamish could tell she was trying not to let it shake.

_"__I'm sorry for the lost time."_

Then the message ended with a dull click. The doctor broke the silence.

"Can we trace the call?" John asked Lestrade.

"It wasn't long enough." The inspector shook his head sadly.

"Not long enough?" Irene fumed. "They're killing her! And it isn't long enough?"

"The point is that they _aren't_ killing her, Irene." Sherlock sighed. Hamish glared at his father's callousness. John copied him, but they both gave up, knowing it was no use. Sherlock wouldn't change just because they wanted him to.

"Time…time." The detective muttered reaching for a patch. Irene moved them away from his hand.

Hamish felt a hollowness at the words. They _had _lost time. He had so many chances to tell her how he felt, or to at least try, and he'd blown it. He wasn't brave like she thought he was.

Hamish watched his father think, his mother leaning into him. He saw John disassembling and then reassembling his firearm. Lestrade fingered the place where his own patches resided. Mary stared blankly at the wall. Hamish left to go make tea.

As he poured the boiling kettle into several mugs, his mind raced with possibilities. _Lost time. _What if it were more than a comment on their failure to admit feelings?

_Think, this is Sheryl Molly Watson. What would she do?_ He tried to remember her as she left the apartment. He could still feel her arms around him, her light perfume gracing his nostrils. _Focus, lover boy._ She wore her tan pea coat, watch, trainers, jeans, loose shirt of John's, no weapons though.

_Think back. Lost time._ He dropped the tray carrying the tea as the realization his him.

He _was _an imbecilic genius. It was so simple that it was clever.

"Hamish, what's the matter with you?" John yelled, moving past him to get something to clean up the mess. Mary and Irene fretted about the scalding tea probably burning him, but he barely paid any mind. Only his father understood the look of blissful understanding that crossed his son's face. The face of a problem solved.

"Do tell." The detective said, gesturing to a chair.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"She lost her mobile, but she had her watch on her when she was taken." Hamish started.

"I don't think that'll help lad." Lestrade pointed out.

"The watch is unique, Uncle Greg. It's-"

"Engraved. I had it engraved for her." John muttered in disbelief as he entered the room.

"Exactly. She must have dropped it somewhere for us to find. _Lost time._" Hamish said.

"Did you contact the network, then?" Sherlock addressed his son.

"Yes, they were running a lead for me earlier too." Hamish stated, then caught his father's raised eyebrow and remembered he hadn't told them about Arthur.

"Did they locate the fellow you were looking for?" The detective asked, not missing a beat.

Hamish felt his mobile vibrate and looked.

"Yes, actually. They just caught him breaking into Bart's." He showed his father the picture. Lestrade was up and running for the patrol car, Mary close behind. John nodded to Sherlock and they left to go catch a cab.

Hamish started to follow before his mother laid a hand on his arm to stop him.

"You've done enough, Hamish. Rest for now. How long has it been since you slept?" Her brow furrowed in concern.

"I don't know." He mumbled.

"Bed." His mother responded, shoving him towards his room, which had once been John's. Hamish let himself be tucked under the covers and kissed goodnight, knowing his mother would probably force him to sleep in a different way if he didn't.

The nightmares were difficult.

Sheryl's leg broken oddly, and she hobbles with a cane and a bandage on her shoulder. Moriarty closing in on them as they run through the city streets. The crack of bone turned to the crack of a gunshot as she lay on the ground, blood framing her pale face.

Hamish woke up sweating and terrified with her name on his lips.

"The coppers almost caught up." Arthur growled at Jim.

"Hmm. I guess they do want to play." Jim tapped his chin thoughtfully.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

_Watch down by Dock 13. Engraved with: Sweet daughter Sherly._

The text came in shortly after Hamish awoke. He quickly grabbed a coat from his father's room, his own scarf, and a gun.

He sent his father a short text.

_Out slaying dragons. Don't wait up._

"They'll still be at the hospital?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, roughed up one of the freaks in the morgue good. Monica or Molly or something." Arthur grunted.

Sheryl gave a cry of outrage from behind her gag. She glared at the hated consulting criminal with enough fire to make normal men cower. Jim gave a yawn.

"So now we have the tools for you, Miss Watson. I'm afraid your parents may not recognize you after we're done. Maybe we can get the little Holmes boy to identify you. He is sickeningly sweet on you. I thought he'd have called me by now, but not with you in the picture it seems." Sheryl went cold at the consultant's mention of Hamish.

"Oh, my heart still belongs to his father. No need to get jealous. Prepare the table, Arthur." Arthur nodded to the shorter man, leaving the room with the stolen medical supplies.

Hamish stood at the entrance to the smallest warehouse on Dock 13. He noticed how it lacked the rust shown on the others. He took in the security cameras, the reinforced locks, and the lack of windows on the ground floor. He smirked.

The great Moriarty hadn't anticipated a climber.

John had just finished treating Molly. Other than a slight concussion from being knocked out, she was in good shape. She described how several scalpels, drugs, and preserving fluids had been stolen. John tried not to vomit. Sherlock looked coolly at his phone.

"I believe our assistance will be needed at the docks soon. Hamish has apparently decided to play hero on his own." The detective stated flatly. Only John could detect the faint traces of worry around the edges of his friend's eyes.

"What is it with you bloody Holmes and stupid decisions?" John muttered shaking his head.

"We do what we have to for our conductors." Sherlock said, gazing softly at John.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Hamish scaled the wall carefully, trying to stay in the blind spots of the cameras. His fingers ached from scrambling for hand holds, but he kept climbing.

"So my dear, we must be going. Got to get you ready for the grand finale. Those clothes will have to go." Jim smirked at the dirt and dried blood. "Here." From a garment bag he had placed on the floor, he pulled free a barely yellow dress. It was sleeveless, to display her new scars and to allow her cast to slip through. The skirt was long, but not long enough to dwarf her short frame. She could tell it would look gorgeous on her.

She hated it.

"Now I'll untie you so you can get ready, but if you try anything I'll let Arthur dress you." He hissed and she winced.

"I assumed we wouldn't like that." He cut the binding on her wrists and removed the gag. "Don't be late." He called back as he left. She heard the bolt on the door turn.

She let loose a feeble grin. With her hands free, she was able to reach her ankle holster where she had stored her toy dissecting supplies. Hopefully something she had could manage as a lock pick.

She gave a little thank you that they hadn't broken her good arm. Her shoulder protested a she worked at the bolt, but eventually she heard a soft click and the door opened a crack. She peered into the hallway, reaching for the small pair of scissors she had with her. It wasn't a firearm, but it would have to do.

Hamish reached the skylight just as Moriarty and Arthur were prepping the lab table. Hamish wanted to vomit at the assortment of knives they were planning on using. He saw paralyzing agents, but no anesthetics. They were going to kill her slowly and painfully. They even had a camera, probably so they could watch it again later.

He scanned the room, but saw no signs of anyone else. Wait, there. A flash of yellow blond hair at the far doorway. Hamish observed as Sheryl saw the only way of escape was on the other side of the room.

Hamish eased open the skylight then faltered. It was a good ten foot drop from where he was to the catwalk crisscrossing the chamber. Even if he didn't break his legs, they would hear him land.

_It'll give her time to run._ He jumped.

Sheryl saw the figure leap. The coat flapped behind him, and his arms circled through the air as if he could gain his balance. The _thud_ was the worst part, she recalled from her father's description of Sherlock's fall. She took off across the room, heading for the stupid head of curls just a tad too wild to belong to the consulting detective.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"Get them!" Moriarty yelled to Arthur, who attempted to block Sheryl's path to the door. She veered right at the last second, heading for the ladder to the catwalk. She could hear the lumbering jailor attempting to catch up with her and put on an extra burst of speed.

She reached Hamish in time to see him stir, turning his bleary grey gaze to her face.

"You were supposed to get away." He muttered.

"You're supposed to be a genius. Don't you know I'd never leave you behind?" She tried to lift his limp form, but it was difficult with one arm in a cast and a smarting shoulder.

"Damn. This. Cast." She grouched as she finally got the tall boy to his feet.

By this time, Arthur had made it up the ladder and was closing in. Hamish pulled a gun from his pocket and fired. Arthur collapsed in a heap in front of them.

"Did you…" Sheryl started to ask.

"No, flesh wound." He mumbled against her hair. She relaxed for a second before pulling him along.

"Well done, children. How cute." Moriarty blocked the only other escape.

"Of course, you'll never stop me. Not even the great Sherlock Holmes managed to stop me." He looked them up and down, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Poor little Hamish. Father didn't want you, not really. Not when he had _her_." He pointed to Sheryl.

"You'll never match him. You'll never make him proud. You might look like the great detective, but you'll never be worth anything." Jim calmly walked towards them. Hamish was frozen and Sheryl began to cower before the manifestation of evil approaching them.

"You weren't in time to save her, or didn't you notice her new improvements? Shot her shoulder the first day, poor lamb cried for hours on end. Then every time she shut her eyes it was always '_Hamish, help me! Oh Hamish, please!'_" Jim gave a throaty chuckle. Hamsih was silent through the verbal attack.

"Then Arthur over there got to like playing with her. But I got in the last laugh, didn't I? I get to _own you_, Sherly." Sheryl whimpered and clutched at Hamish, burying her face in his coat.

"But as you've said dear, you _aren't _the brave one. Although," He drawled, close enough now to stroke Hamish's face. "He isn't very brave either."

It was then that Sheryl seized the gun in Hamish's coat pocket. She brought it up and shot Moriarty point blank in the chest. He looked down with amusement.

"Well done, dear. I've taught you something after all." He smiled at her.

Her hands never shook as she emptied the barrel into his chest. It was only when Moriarty fell to the floor, lifeless and grinning, that she collapsed into Hamish and sobbed.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Hamish emerged from the warehouse carrying a still crying Sheryl. Her head was buried against his chest, searching for the comfort of his heartbeat. Her arms were wrapped around his neck so tightly that he would find bruises later, but he didn't care. It just felt good to have her in his arms again.

Everyone seemed to understand that the girl needed quiet. John glanced at the building.

"Moriarty?" He whispered to Hamish, but Sheryl heard and gave a small cry before clutching her savior more tightly.

"Dead." The boy mouthed.

John nodded and stroked his daughter's hair. Mary looked on with a mixture of joy and sorrow. Lestrade draped a hospital shock blanket around the boy's shoulders. Sherlock whistled for a cab, helping his son in.

"221 B Baker Street." The detective told the cabbie.

Sheryl rode the whole way in Hamish's arms. She never ceased crying, but eventually her sobs grew quiet. Hamish whispered comforting words in her ear.

He paid the cabbie and climbed the steps to 221 B as carefully as he could, hoping not to disturb the girl.

He carefully laid her on his bed and moved to exit the room. He turned when he heard his name escape her lips.

"Yes?"

"Don't go."

"What'll our parents think?" he murmured as he moved to sit beside her.

"Don't care." She muttered.

"Go to sleep." He whispered, stroking her hair.

"Only if you stay."

"Of course I will." He pulled her against him and leaned back until he was lying down on the bed, her head pillowed against his chest. His arms came around her protectively and she gave a contented sigh.

She listened to his heart beat and let the noise lull her to sleep. He watched her relax and felt that stirring of something inside, noticing that it gave him a full feeling, this knowledge he made her happy. For the first time in his life, he felt well and truly _needed._

He planned to stay awake, but of course the feeling of calm that he experienced while holding her was too much and he drifted off, the girl in his arms working his way into his pleasant dreams.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Sheryl woke up screaming.

In her nightmare Moriarty had laughed at her, his corpse distorted and bloody. 'Just like me!' he chanted over and over. Suddenly the gun was in her hand and she pulled the trigger, only for Moriarty to be replaced by Hamish. She had watched his eyes drain of life as she screamed his name over and over, before putting the gun to her own head…

"Sheryl! Sheryl, love, it's all right." Hamish held her firmly in his arms, trying to stop her thrashing. She looked up into those beautiful silver eyes and clung to him as if she were drowning.

"Hamish I killed him." She said dumbly. "I shot him and killed him and he's dead. Oh Hamish!" She cried, burying her face in his chest.

"Shh, love. I'm here." He rocked her back and forth in an attempt to sooth her.

"Go to sleep." She shook her head.

"You need sleep, Sheryl." He told her.

"No."

"Stubborn."

"You should talk."

"Are you worried you'll wake up alone?" He pressed his lips to her hair. She nodded against his chest.

"Don't worry. I'm here." She nodded again and he managed to get the shock blanket over the two of them.

Just when he was sure she was asleep, he eased his way off the bed and out of the room. He found his violin, a present from his father, and carried it back with him. He left it next to the bed and climbed back in, Sheryl immediately curling into him.

For the first day, Sheryl woke up to find Hamish bringing in tea. He ate breakfast with her, then helped her move around the apartment. He wrapped her cast so it wouldn't get wet when she went to get clean, and brought her fresh clothes. She nearly cried at the familiar sight of shirt and jumper of her father's.

Soon afterwards, she began to yawn again.

"You're still tired." Hamish remarked.

"No I'm not." She managed around a yawn.

"Liar." He said, scooping her up off the couch and carrying her back to his room.

She muttered a few choice words which he didn't hear, as he was too busy going weak in the knees at her lips pressing into the fabric of his shirt.

He tried to place her on the bed, but her arms remained firmly around his neck. Her eyes locked on his, and the new pain he saw there saddened and angered him, but he gave her a small smile.

"I'm too frightened." She whispered

"I'm here, love. Just try for me, okay?" She nodded and let him tuck her in. Then he picked up his violin and began to play the piece he had been working on in the weeks before she had disappeared, hesitantly titled, Sherly's Eyes.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

"Happy Birthday, Sherly." Her mum hugged her tightly around the middle.

"Mum, can't breathe."

"Oh, sorry." She blushed prettily and stepped back to allow John to hug his daughter as well.

It had been a few weeks since the incident. Her parents had given her one week of Hamish filled rest before dragging her away from 221 B. Her cast was removed and except for a few scars and some awkward therapy, she was declared well.

She didn't feel it though. After she left, Hamish became especially cold and distant, while something inside her seemed to whither without him. Now she was turning seventeen and the party was being held at the famous flat, with everyone she cared about present. All except Hamish.

"Open it up, Sherly." Sherlock urged her, so she eagerly unwrapped his present to her. She gasped when she saw it.

Inside was an elegant black coat, cinched at the waist and woven with glittering silver threads. Under the coat was a scarf the exact shade of blue as her eyes. It was so soft to the touch she was almost afraid she would tear it.

"Go on, we want to see." Irene squealed and Sheryl obliged, throwing the elegant coat around her shoulders and lacing up the scarf the way Sherlock had taught her.

"Oh darling, it's beautiful." Her mum whispered, and Sheryl felt that the coat made her taller and more elegant.

"Oy, ours next." Her father called, muttering to Sherlock about being him a 'bloody show-off'.

Sheryl took the package her father handed her with glee. Ripping away the paper, she found a girl's jumper in just the barest hint of pink.

"Oh, Daddy I love it." She said, hugging him.

"Now we're just going to let her run around town looking like the both of you?" Irene giggled. Sherlock looked embarrassed and Sheryl heard her mother assuring her father that she loved all his jumpers, even the one with the cats on it.

"That was the brilliant Sherlock Holmes, not me." He muttered in response.

"Now I do believe it's my turn." Mycroft added, looking almost giddy from the cheer in the room. Or maybe it was because he and Sheryl shared a fondness for red velvet cake.

Sheryl carefully took the flat, elegantly wrapped box, delicately peeling away the paper. Inside was a silver picture frame, with _My heart belongs at Baker Street_ engraved in elegant print along the bottom.

She found that it held the picture they had all taken last year at Regents Park. There were Molly and Greg and Mrs. Hudson, her parents and her aunt Harry, Mycroft, Sherlock and Irene, and then she and Hamish were there in the middle. His arm was slung casually around her shoulders, with her arm around his waist. Everyone was smiling, even the Holmes men, who often claimed that fresh air gave them headaches.

"Oh, it's wonderful!" She cried, throwing her arms about the elder man. He let his umbrella fall to the floor as he returned the embrace.

Sherlock whistled and then gave an _ump_ as Irene elbowed him hard in the ribs. John chuckled at seeing the detective put in his place and Mary wiped the tears out of her eyes.

"Thank you." She whispered to the man. He gently extracted himself from her fierce hug.

"You're very welcome. Now, might we have a spot of cake?" He whispered and she giggled, gesturing towards the kitchen. Sherlock had cleaned it, more as a present to Irene than to her, but seeing Irene's reaction to the sparkling counters and the fridge free of body parts had been amazing nonetheless.

As everyone gathered around the cake, trying to find a lighter for the candles (since they were trying to discourage Sherlock's smoking, it was a bit difficult), Sheryl couldn't help but glance wistfully at the door.

"It is hard, loving a Holmes." Sheryl started at Irene's voice.

"Oh, darling, don't look so scared. Everyone knows." Her eyes twinkled merrily and Sheryl smiled shyly.

"I do. Love him, that is." She whispered, more to herself than Irene.

"He knows. And he loves you too." Irene patted her shoulder.

"Why won't he come back? Is it because I-I," She could barely force the words out and tried again. "Is it because of what I did?" She stared at her feet.

"No, that isn't why at all. Oh come here." Irene pulled her into a hug that was firm and full of understanding.

"Now, enough moping over that ridiculous boy. Go blow out your candles." Irene steered the girl towards the kitchen, and despite the lack of the tall, arrogant boy, Sheryl smiled.

As everyone began to sing, Sheryl contemplated her wish. As the song concluded, she closed her eyes and blew out the candles in one breath.

Just then, a loud knock sounded on the door.

"Shot the bell, didn't you." Mrs. Hudson gave a pointed look at Sherlock, who avoided her gaze.

"I'll get it." Sheryl cried, jumping up and racing out of the apartment.

"I put 5 quid in that she socks him in those damn cheekbones," John says.

"I say she should give him a bit of what-for." Adds Mrs. Hudson.

"I'll take that." Mycroft replies. "I wager the young Holmes boy is here to present a gift."

"Yes, but the bet is if she punches him." Molly says.

"Who's putting money in or what?" Challenges Greg, throwing in a quid. The room quickly divides into if she will kiss or hit the Holmes boy, with Irene laughing hysterically and Sherlock sharing parental looks with John.

A silent conversation ensues between the two best friends.

_"__If he breaks her heart, I'll kill him."_

_ "__He is well aware of what you and Sheryl are capable of."_

_ "__You seem oddly calm."_

_ "__A Holmes and a Watson are too much of a coincidence not to work well."_

_ "__You don't believe in coincidences, Sherlock."_

_ "__True. Nor do I believe in destiny, and yet-"_

"Shut it you two, we're trying to listen in." Greg disrupts their thoughts.

"I wasn't even talking." Sherlock grumbles, slightly hurt.

"You were thinking loudly, sweetheart." Irene puts a soothing hand on his shoulder.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Sheryl opens the door to find the Holmes boy in question standing with his back turned to her, talking to himself.

"Sheryl, I think that I- no that's stupid. I think that we, um…could maybe-"

"Maybe what?" She asks, startling the boy. He stares at her, slack-jawed. Sheryl had taken off the coat and donned her new jumper, again tying the scarf around her neck. At seeing her so _different _than he's used to, he begins to stammer incoherently. When he can finally speak, he mutters something along the lines of "Perfection" before he cups her face in his hands and presses his lips to hers.

Sheryl is surprised at how wonderful it is; his lips are so full and soft and _warm_. She takes the opportunity to run her fingers through his hair, causing a rumble deep in his chest. She giggles against his lips and Hamish never wants her to stop.

Upstairs, the adults pass around the winnings as Molly shoos them from the window.

Sheryl pulls away and smiles at the boy's pout about the kiss ending.

"I had a speech planned."

"I liked the kiss better." She grinned.

"So am I enough of a present for you?" He jokes. She absentmindedly runs a hand through his curls again, causing him to shut his eyes blissfully.

"I would say yes, if I hadn't seen the one in your pocket." She mumbles, placing a small kiss on his lips.

"Oh yes, that. It took me weeks to find an adequate gift for you. It was a lot to think about. Here." He holds it out to her carefully.

"All right." She opens the box to find a golden locket glittering up at her. _Holmes + Watson_ glimmers in silver lettering.

Inside is the picture of the two of them at the Watson's costume party last year. She wears a beige jumper and carries a laptop, and Hamish is in a coat of his father's and a charming grey deerstalker. She recalls that they had swiped a pair of handcuffs from Greg and spent the party trying to lock their fathers together. She laughs at the memory.

Hamish looks worried.

"Did I get it wrong?" He asks. She hugs him quickly.

"No, I was just remembering how Sherlock managed to cuff _us_ together by the end of the party. I was afraid you would sulk when it happened, but you just grabbed my hand and we took off running for Angelo's."

"Not a bad idea." He adds, brushing her lips with his.

"No, Hamish. We can't just ditch the party. Not even you are better than cake." She winks at him, grabs his hand, and hurriedly drags him up the stairs. The apartment erupts in cheers when the two burst in. Sheryl looks at the ground and blushes at the attention. The sight is so amazing to Hamish that he instantly lifts her chin and plants a kiss on her lips in front of everyone.

Irene hugs the two tightly, causing Hamish to blush as well. John gives a half-hearted glare, Mary giggles, and Sherlock winks at the pair of them. Greg claps the boy on the back while Molly and Mrs. Hudson raise their glasses in a toast. Mycroft takes in the locket resting on top of Sherly's scarf.

"Pay up, gents." He says, and the room chuckles with him.

They all go into the kitchen and eat the cake. No one comments when Mycroft takes three pieces. They're all too busy pretending not to notice Sheryl and Hamish slip away, running hand in hand through the London streets, all the way to a romantic evening at Angelo's.


End file.
